


Nightmare

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Choking, Demonic Possession, Ignored Safeword, M/M, Rough Sex, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Fill for the kink meme prompt:   "The Nightmare demon makes good on his word and possesses Bull's body, then uses his new form to have his way with Dorian as Bull watches helplessly."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Already posted to the meme [here.](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62709045#t62709045)
> 
> Prompter also requested
> 
> "+ if Bull can feel everything the demon does with his body, and is ashamed at how good it feels.  
> ++ if the demon is cruel to the point of making Dorian safeword, which he promptly ignores.  
> +++ if Dorian holds off on safewording until the very last minute because he doesn't want to dissapoint Bull."
> 
> I'm pretty sure the tags and warnings are watertight, but if you think I've missed anything, do say.

Eye open. 

He’s lying down. He can feel the heavy blankets, slightly rough, against the skin of his back. Through the hole in the ceiling the sky is dark, starless. Below, he can hear the muffled noise of many conversations.

When his head turns to the side, he can see the door outlined with the warm light of the tavern beyond. 

His head turns. He is not the one turning it.

_Now, what to try first?_

He knows the voice, but it takes him a second to place it. Low, menacing, like it’s coming from outside and inside his head at the same time. _Maybe I will ride his body myself,_ it had said. Fear had swirled like sickness in his stomach at the time. Now, his stomach is calm. It is no longer his to feel with.

The Nightmare sits up with his body, legs swinging over the edge of the bed to plant bare feet firmly on the floor, the stone cool beneath them. 

He doesn’t remember getting back to his room, so he cannot be certain if it was he himself who had removed his boots and armour and got him into bed, or someone else. Had he been conscious? Had the demon been in him then?

 _It hardly matters when it happened, does it?_ The voice seems to echo inside his skull, too loud. _Of greater concern should be what I can do now I am here._

Panic threatens to splinter his thoughts. Focus. Focus. 

He concentrates on his right index finger, willing it to move, just a fraction.

The Nightmare laughs. 

The latch clicks and the door opens, spreading a wedge of light into the room. Dorian pauses, hand on the door, when he notices Bull sitting up. “Oh - you’re awake.” He comes fully into the room, closing the door behind him. “Krem said you were resting but when I heard about what happened with the Venatori I…” He looks away, suddenly choosing to focus on the lamp by the door, which he lights with a wave of his hand. “I was concerned.”

_How very fortuitous._

No, thinks Bull. No, no –

He stands and walks towards Dorian. If he had been injured he doesn’t feel it – in fact he feels strong, an unnatural vitality humming through his veins. Dorian watches him, the slightest quizzical tilt of his head. He doesn’t move until Bull reaches him, grips his waist, and walks him firmly back against the door. 

He gasps as he hits the solid wood, then again as Bull leans down and presses a biting kiss to the side of his neck.

“I see – ah – my concern was misplaced.”

For a moment, Bull is lost in the taste of him, the smell of him. He had been away with the Chargers for weeks. He had missed Dorian, perhaps even more than he had realised. It was so good to feel him melt under his touch, to hear him…

_This is what you want, isn’t it?_

His hands curl behind Dorian’s thighs, hoisting him off his feet. Dorian hooks his legs round Bull’s waist and his arms around his neck. His head tips back, allowing Bull access to the skin of his throat.

Bull feels his cock begin to harden, beyond his control.

Dorian’s fingers slide round the base of his horns and he tugs. Bull knows that signal but the Nightmare ignores it, instead biting hard at the juncture of Dorian’s neck and shoulder. Dorian curses breathlessly – not entirely without pleasure – and tugs harder. 

This time the Nightmare lifts Bull’s head.

Dorian looks ravished already, hair mussed from rubbing against the door, eyes half-lidded. “Kiss me,” he says, and leans in to catch Bull’s mouth.

Bull backs out of his reach. He feels his lips pull into a crooked smile. “Only if you’re good.”

The sound of words he had not chosen being spoken in his voice is horrifying. His skin should be crawling, but it is instead warm with the thrill of arousal, simultaneously his and not his.

A frown creases Dorian’s brow, but only briefly. “Is that the game we’re playing?” He shifts in Bull’s arms, and smiles. “Very well, then.”

Can’t he tell? Bull thinks desperately. There must be something…

_He must have missed you…_

He firms his hold on Dorian and steps away from the door, carrying him to the bed.

_…so very…_

He drops him heavily onto the mattress. Dorian looks up at him, his gaze searing.

_…very much._

"Take off your clothes."

A flicker of something in Dorian’s expression, sharp. The smallest pause. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he says, light but careful. “Krem did say…”

Please. Get up. Get up and walk out of this room.

He leans over Dorian, holding himself up with one hand, and touches the other to Dorian’s cheek. “I feel fine.” He traces his thumb along Dorian’s temple, and Dorian’s eyes flutter closed. “I just missed you in my bed.”

 _Humans are so easy to convince,_ the Nightmare chuckles, _if you can tell them what they want to hear._

Dorian is already undoing buckles, sliding off layers. Bull steps back to help him remove his boots. The fastenings are complicated, but Bull knows how to work them, so the Nightmare does too.

Dorian lays back naked on the blankets, both submissive and challenging. His cock is soft, but when Bull cups a hand round his hip and squeezes, it begins to harden. Dorian’s hands find the waistband of Bull’s pants, pulling them down, the drag of knuckles against his skin enough to make him shiver – an involuntary reaction, his and the Nightmare’s shared. 

For a long, heady moment, Bull succumbs. Dorian’s touch is hot and lingering, and the slide of his own hands along Dorian’s body – down his sides, over his stomach, teasingly between his legs – is not dissimilar to what Bull might do were he in control, as if the Nightmare could appreciate Dorian, as if it was trying to learn every part of him…

_Yes, this is what you want._

He hasn’t kissed him yet, but he does now, slick and open-mouthed. Dorian makes a needy sound into it, and digs his fingers into the muscle of Bull’s shoulders.

Bull pulls back, keeping Dorian from following him with a hand pressed flat on his collarbone. He has Dorian pinned by his weight on his legs, and he slides his hand up until the V of his thumb and index finger sits snugly over the base of Dorian’s throat. 

Dorian looks up at him, and the trust in his eyes leaves Bull desperate. 

With his other hand, he takes hold of Dorian’s cock. Dorian sighs, tailing off into a quiet moan with the first slow stroke. 

_They’re so fragile, aren’t they?_ says the Nightmare, and the hand at Dorian’s throat begins to squeeze.

It is gradual, and Dorian doesn’t react immediately. His eyes have fallen almost completely closed, and his hips push up what little amount they are able, chasing the hand still stroking his cock with firm, steady pulls.

Then his eyebrows draw together in a frown and his eyes open, a little dazed. He takes a breath, quick and deep, and it sounds strangled. Bull can feel his throat working beneath his palm, and the rapid beat of his pulse beneath his fingers. 

For a split second, Dorian looks as terrified as Bull feels.

Bull’s grip eases. At the same time, he twists his other hand over the sensitive head of Dorian’s cock, and Dorian arches off the bed with a helpless groan. 

“That’s good,” says the Nightmare with Bull’s voice, low and pleased.

Stop, thinks Bull. And then: I will stop you. I will kill you.

Bull feels his hand tighten at Dorian’s throat again. He doesn’t know if it’s in response to his silent threat, or even if the demon was listening to him, but it is a definitive answer nonetheless. 

Dorian is holding eye contact, as well as he can, though he is far gone enough that his ragged breathing is punctuated with soft little moans every time Bull twists his hand just the right way.

Still, Bull recognises the alarm simmering beneath his expression. He knows to look for it, knows that when he can see it he is at risk of pushing Dorian too far. The Nightmare also knows. Bull’s hand squeezes tighter.

Dorian grabs Bull's forearm with both hands. His grip is clumsy but strong, and it’s actually not clear whether he is trying to pull Bull’s hand from his throat or if he is just holding on. He continues to hold Bull’s gaze, but his eyes are unfocused, and a faint flush is visible across his cheeks. 

Bull knows he is still capable of using magic or his watchword. He does neither.

_You know how he hates to disappoint._

Dorian’s eyes drift closed. 

A second later Bull releases his throat, and speeds up the hand on his cock. With a gasp, Dorian comes hard over his stomach. 

He sags, panting heavily, his hands slipping from Bull’s arm. 

Bull is hard, almost dizzy with it, and he no longer knows where to lay the blame. The actions are not his, but his disgust at them does not appear to have tempered the resulting arousal. There must be a point where he ends and the demon begins, but he does not know where it is. 

_Are you afraid_ , says the voice in his head, _that this is what you want?_

Bull rises up on his knees. It leaves Dorian free to move, but despite Bull willing him to do so, he stays where he is. He protests only mildly when Bull turns him onto his front, though the action is ungentle.

He runs a splayed hand down the curve of Dorian’s spine. Dorian groans quietly into the blanket when Bull’s fingers skim between his buttocks, then shifts uncomfortably when he presses one deeper. 

He will stop you, Bull thinks suddenly. He will know something’s wrong, that I would never…

Bull climbs off the bed. There is a chest at the foot of it: he goes to the chest, opens it, and retrieves a small bottle of oil.

_You are right, of course._

He can hear Dorian moving. When he turns back to the bed, he sees that Dorian has propped himself up on his elbows to watch him.

_I want him to be afraid of you. Not of me._

He returns to the bed, straddling Dorian’s thighs. He coats his fingers with the oil. 

“Bull…” says Dorian. Bull can’t read his tone, and it unnerves him. 

His plants his clean hand on the center of Dorian’s back, pressing until he lies down. He follows, leaning over him until he can brush a messy kiss against his shoulders, then along his neck. “You’re doing good, Dorian,” he murmurs. Words drawn from Bull’s memories. “You’re amazing like this.”

Dorian relaxes slightly under him.

Bull sits back, and with no preamble, pushes an oiled finger inside him. Dorian sucks in a breath. 

“You want me to fuck you?”

Dorian’s reply is too long coming, preceded by a tight moan, muffled in the blankets, as Bull crooks his finger. “…Yes.”

He would stop. Dorian should know he would stop.

A second finger, not careful enough, and Dorian’s body jerks. Bull’s free hand comes down on small of his back, holding him still.

The preparation is perfunctory, inadequate. Too soon Bull drags Dorian onto his knees, keeping his head down with a hand between his shoulder blades, and thrusts his cock into him. 

The incredible physical relief of finally being able to do so distracts from the way Dorian grunts with discomfort, the way his hands squeeze into tight fists where they cling to the bedding. The shock of pleasure is more intense than Bull has ever experienced from penetration alone and, unable to control the situation, he is overwhelmed by it. 

_This is what he deserves, after all._

It is the Nightmare’s voice that brings him back to himself, drawing a thin line of separation between them.

_To be punished. After all Tevinter has done to you. It is what drew you to him in the first place._

A particularly brutal thrust makes Dorian cry out. His head is turned to the side so the blankets don’t restrict his breathing, and Bull can see his eyes are shut tight.

“This is what you wanted me for, isn’t it?” he grits out, voice already beginning to shake with exertion. “So you could be fucked by the Qunari savage.”

He grinds his fingers into Dorian’s hip, more than enough to bruise, and feels Dorian try to pull away from it. 

Dorian’s breath shakes horribly on each inhale. “Please, Bull…”

Bull bends forward to take hold of Dorian’s wrists. With a tug he brings Dorian’s arms round behind his back, holding them there one-handed with a binding grip. The position forces Dorian deeper into the mattress, robbing him of any leverage he may have had.

 _Take the hands out of play first. They can’t cast as well without them._ The Nightmare’s voice, but Bull’s words, branded indelibly into his mind from long ago.

Dorian whimpers.

“I’ve known plenty of Vints like you and you all want the same thing.” He rearranges his hold on Dorian’s wrists. The muscles of Dorian’s shoulders are strained tight. “You’re nothing special.”

When Dorian speaks it sounds like it has been punched out of him. “Katoh.” 

The word hits Bull so sharply he half expects it to have an ingrained effect on his body, that it might make him stop regardless of the demon’s intentions. 

The hand between Dorian’s shoulder blades just presses harder.

“Katoh!” he says again, louder, threaded through with panic.

Bull can feel his orgasm rushing closer, even through his own horror. Dorian’s body is achingly tight around his cock, the slide of each thrust almost unbearably good.

_You know it was always going to happen like this eventually._

Dorian’s jaw is clenched.

Get out, he thinks. Get out, get out, get out.

_You were always going to lose control._

He comes in a rush, graying out his vision and flooding pleasure through every part of him. It is followed by a strange sense of detachment, like a grip loosening and tumbling away into darkness.

He chases the sensation with short, erratic jerks of his hips, too much to resist. When it finally fades, he flexes his fingers against Dorian’s skin.

Eye open.

Dorian lies before him, stiff in the position he had been held in, breathing heavily, eyes still closed.

Bull lets go of him, and stumbles off the bed. He manages to take a couple of backwards steps before his legs collapse under him. He tries to speak, but can only manage a dry sob. His throat feels hoarse.

“Dorian…” he says then, and it is him, his voice, his words. “That wasn’t me.” Panic rises in him, or perhaps it’s elation, he can’t tell. “A demon…the Nightmare…it was in me…”

Dorian sits up slowly on the bed to look at him. 

“In my head. That wasn’t…I would never do that…” Dorian looks scared, and Bull feels sick at the sight of it. “I would never…say those things…”

Dorian moves gingerly to the edge of the bed. His legs seem to wobble when he tries to stand on them, and he gets to his knees to crawl cautiously across to Bull. He stops just out of reach. “A demon?”

“I couldn’t stop it.”

Dorian swallows, blinking rapidly. “When?”

“I don’t know.” He tries and fails again to remember the details. “Before…before we came back here.”

Dorian looks away. He is shaking, and wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to stop it. He takes a breath before turning back to Bull. “Is it gone?”

“I…think so.” 

Dorian nods. Then he purses his lips, determined, and shuffles closer to Bull. He reaches up hesitantly and cups Bull’s cheek, observing his face intently.

The touch is a relief, suffused with a dark underlying guilt. “Can you tell?”

Dorian gives him a watery smile. “Apparently not,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I’m so sorry.” He places a hand on Dorian’s arm. 

Dorian flinches violently from the touch, dropping his hand from Bull’s face and sitting back on his heels. 

Bull can hardly bear it.

“I believe you,” Dorian says quickly. “I just…” He drags himself to his feet and begins searching around for his clothes. “I need to go and find help. Vivienne, or…I don’t know. Someone who can make sure.”

“Okay.” Bull watches him dress. It’s an arduous process, Dorian clearly battling pain. 

Finally he pulls on his boots. He pauses. “You will stay here?”

“Yes.”

Dorian nods again. “Good. I think that would be…best.” He touches Bull’s shoulder, careful and fleeting. “I’ll be back soon.”

Bull is left alone. He waits, and listens. The voices from the tavern are quieter now, bar the occasional drunken shout, or a drifting line of song.

The only voice in his head is his own.


End file.
